Plaything 3 | cloth gag bdsm stories

Cyndi started to kick and twist again, like a fish on a hook. "Never gives up, does she?" Audrey cornmented. "Bring her over here, brother dear. We must'

soothe her addled mind." Oswald dropped the young blond on the mattress in front of his sister. Cyndi cried and contorted at the sudden move. Audrey leaned over and gathered the squirming girl in her ample arms.

"There, there, stepsister dear. There, there. You mustn't worry. We'll take very good care of you. Very good care." One arm crushed Cyndi's tits. The other hand pulled Cyndi's nightgown skirt up over one shapely, soft hip. "In fact, we'll give you all the loving you'll ever need." With that, Audrey grabbed Cyndi's arms and fell back.

Cyndi squealed as Audrey lay under her, her arms snaking between the blond's bound ones. "Relax!" Audrey cried. "Let's play!"

Oswald watched as the two rolled about on the bed. Audrey's hands were everywhere, pulling Cyndi's hair, hitting her in the stomach, slapping her in the face. They wrestled, with Cyndi at a great disadvantage. As she whirled amidst the thick bedclothes, she couldn't call out, strike back, or hardly even breathe.

Finally, the black-haired stepsister was under her again, holding Cyndi in a full nelson. By then, some of the blond's strength had returned and she started to kick madly. Oswald simply stepped over, sat on the edge of the bed, and heId her legs together at the knees and lower thighs.

Cyndi lay across the bed, her lower face covered with tightly wound stockings, her hair free and curtaining her face in wet ringlets. Her chest heaved again, the nightgown disturbed so her right nipple just peeked out from the neckline.

Her hem had ridden up to her hips, revealing the thick thatch of shimmering yellow-gold hair between her shining, slippery legs.

"Well, well," said Harold Ellsworth from the doorway. "Done." He closed the door and walked toward them. "He's resting comfortably. He's had a hard day." The attorney stopped at the baseboard, surveying the scene for a second. "So have I, for that matter," he drawled quietly.

Cvndi tried to pull away, but her relatives' grip was as strong as ever. The lawyer and dark-haired stepsister's eyes locked for a moment.

"Let her go, Oswald," Audrey said. "That's hardly polite. The counselor has had a hard day. He needs some place soft and warm to rest."

Just as Oswald let go, Audrey wrapped her legs around Cyndi, pushing her heels between the blond's clenched thighs. Cyndi reared, using all her strength, but it was no good. She screamed, shrieked, and screeched into the night.

The hood was indeed gone, allowing her to cry louder, but the sound didn't penetrate the thick walls and solid door. Outside, they mingled with the chirps of the birds and insects. Across the expansive lawn, beyond the stone and iron fence, and into the streets the cars and trucks rumbled along. In the distance, a train whistle blew.

Audrey had snaked her feet between Cyndi's legs. As Ellsworth watched, she began to separate them. Her own legs began to pull Cyndi's legs apart in a perverted version of leg wrestling. The lawyer watched as if it were the coming of the dawn.

The farther Audrey forced them open, the weaker Cyndi became. She was using every last ounce of' effort, but she couldn't get the wind or the proper angle.

Her arms were pinioned between their two bodies. Her hands were sunk into Audrey's thick torso. Audrey's arms held her elbows and shoulders. She felt as if her eyes were going to pop. Hi-r feet clawed the sheets.

When Ellsworth came around the baseboard, his pants were off. His cock was bulging.

Cyndi tried to faint again, but couldn't force it. She had to watch in horror and revulsion as he climbed onto the bed and across her.

One hand went onto her hip. The other grabbed the left side of her lingerie's neckline and pulled down. As soon as her left breast popped free, he grabbed it.

He wrapped his other arm under her waist and laid between her legs.

"Ah," he said, settling. "That's better-"

Cyndi tried to slither between them. She tried to wrench herself out. But Audrey had her arms and legs inside Cyndi's arms and legs. Ellsworth was the anchor, holding her there. Cyndi's head started banging against Audrey's ample chest as the blond's face grew purple in terror and dread.

"Now that's no way to treat your guardians," Audrey admonished, slipping one arm through both of Cyndi's, and using the freed hand to grab her hair. She pulled back, keeping Cyndi's head near her underarm.

"Yes," said Ellsworth, squeezing her bulbous tit and positioning her hips roughly. We're here to help you. We're here to protect you. Your daddy wanted it that way."

Cyndi strained against Audrey's grip, her blue eyes huge as she stared up at the attorney, sweat soaking her skin. He grabbed her round, firm ass cheeks and pulled them wide while chatting tightly.

"-Harold,' he told me," Ells worth said merrily as he sank his fingers into her tight ass cheeks, "'take good care of her, Harold. Make sure she's all right."'

The lawyer pressed the top of his shaft against her golden snatch. "His wish is my command."

He pushed, rammed, and slid his entire cock into her.

Cyndi Rowland shuddered and arched her body trying to tear herself off the thing. He merely rode her, rising with her to press his vile member home. He nailed her back to her stepsister's body. "0000h," he sighed. "You're more than all right".

Cyndi collapsed across her stepsister, tears streaming out of her eyes, rolling down on either side of her face. She sobbed into the gag, it making little choked gulping noises. Ellsworth lay across her, his hands under her shoulders, pushing her onto him, slobbering over her neck and ear. He started thrusting in earnest.

"Just a minute," grunted Audrey. "I don't think you need me here anymore." She crawled out from under the two. Cyndi was Pressed into the bed, and took the opportunity to start kicking anew-t rying tore close her legs under Ellsworth.

"Oh no," Audrey announced, grabbing for Cyndi's' right ankle as she stood beside the bed. She MOtioned with her head for Oswald to do the same. He grabbed at Cyndi's left ankle as she flailed and bleated. The lawyer just lay there atop her, holding her shoulders and Pressing down with his hips.

The step -relatives grabbed their respective ankles and pulled wide. Ellsworth slid into Cyndi again. Her head went back, the top of her skull sliding on the satiny bed covers. Her blond hair fanned out as she mewled. Sweat and saliva poured down over her chin and across her forehead.

"This won't do," Audrey mused, controlling the spasming leg in her hands. She suddenly pulled the leg up, toward the bed's headboard. Oswald grinned and followed suit. Ellsworth's weight held the girl's trunk flat, but her loins rose slightly to consume him. Cyndi screeched in mortal anguish before her body was wracked by shuddering sobs.

"That's better," said Audrey. "Carry on."

Harold Ellsworth tore Cyndi Rowland's nightgown open; her firm, round tits bobbed completely free. He crushed them under him as his hands went into her hair and he covered her face in slobbering kisses. As he did so, his hips continued to thrust, his prick sliding in and back, in and back-- the shaft never completely out of her warm, tight, wet cunt.

He rutted her while her stepbrother and stepsister held her legs up, back, and wide. Cyndi's tits shook, squashed between her and Ellsworth's torso. Her hands clawed out from under her rear, her fingers just able to touch the lawyer's sagging, hairy balls. She babbled into the stockings incoherently. He just kept thrusting, his excitement building with very move It went on for minutes-- an ugly recurring scene-- like a perverted piece of moving statuary. The beautiful blond girl lay bound and gagged on the bed, her legs held up and wide, the disgusting, half-dressed man raping her with insistent rhythm.

Cyndi would grunt, gasp, and try to cry, her head pulled all the way back.

Otherwise, she only moved so far as he surged against her. The mattress spring creaked with the assault. He just thrust and pulled thrust and pulled, rising and falling, stimulating himself with her moist vagina. His cock vibrated and, throbbed, filling with blood and thick juice.

Audrey and Oswald stood to each side, holding Cyndi's quivering, muscle-taut legs. Cyndi tried jerking them away as she felt his shaft's heat, but her relatives would have none of it. The penis grew to it’s largest and thickest size. It completely filled the lithe, shapely girl's vagina. Cyndi twitched in shock.

"Are you ready?" Audrey asked the attorney. "I think she is."

"Almost," Ellsworth gasped, not stopping.

"Say when," Audrey advised, beginning to lower Cyndi's leg. Oswald followed suit.

The lawyer's head came up, his muscles contracting, pulling Cyndi's head even deeper into the soft plush of the bed covers. "Now," he grunted. "I'm coming. I can feel it!"

"Fine," said Audrey. She pushed Cyndi's leg across the lawyer's back, then reached toward Oswald with one hand. Oswald grabbed Cyndi's right ankle and handed her left ankle to Audrey. Audrey grabbed it in both hands and pulled. Her brother did the same with the ankle he now had.

They made their stepsister embrace her rapist with her legs as he came inside her.

Ellsworth did a pushup off her as his seed exploded from his cock. She shook her head in a frenzy beneath him, her blond hair in a shimmering pool. She arched her back in a hopeless attempt to escape, then collapsed crying ... only to arch her back again and again . . . to collapse repeatedly as she did not escape-her cries suffocated, then strangled by the tight, filling gag. Finally, she grew law, her body only moved by her trembling weeping.

He sank down, his head beside her, one clammy hand squeezing her left breast, as her relatives finally untangled her legs from his back. With his belt, Oswald strapped her left ankle to the left rear bed post. Audrey just let Cyndi's right leg stay trapped beneath the lawyer. Ellsworth forced his other arm under her head and started caressing her sweaty, covered face.

"What now?" asked Oswald, leaning against the bedpost. "You have what you want."

He looked from the lawyer to his sister. "You have what you want. What do I get?"

Audrey smiled patiently at him. "What do you want, brother dear?"

Oswald looked at Cyndi, whose assaulted flesh crawled. Despite her bonds, despite her attack, despite her exhaustion, she started shaking her head, tried to pull away, and made begging noises through the slimy gag.

"Don't flatter yourself," Oswald said in disgust. He looked back at Audrey. "You know what I want. More than her. Much more than her."

Audrey's smile widened. "I think that can be arranged. You always had a big appetite." She jerked her head at the bureau. "Go get me her address book."

Cyndi started struggling so hard and screaming so loud that Ellsworth had to lay atop her again, both hands tight over her gagged mouth. She pleaded desperately with him through the gag, but he only rubbed himself across her magnificently soft skin, her nipples scraping his chest like thimbles on balloons.

He found her cunt and entered her again. She stiffened, a scream trapped in her throat. He grew in her, holding her tighter and tighter. She looked beyond him, to where her stepbrother and stepsister were going through the names in her orderly address book.

"Justine . . . February," they read. "Megan . . . March, Clarissa ... April, Kirby ... May.....

Then she heard nothing as, he lay his hands over her ears, grabbed her hair, and started fucking her again.

JUSTINE GRAYSON WAS GLAD FOR A LITTLE QUIET solitude. After a day trying to reach the minds of he third-graders, it was nice to have a few minutes to clean the blackboard in peace. It was nice to be able to turn her back on the class without having spitballs bonding off her tight, round rear, or hearing the sniggers.

Justine sighed, exhaling quickly when she realized her deep breath only made her situation more pronounced. Her ample chest had swelled, filling her tight white cotton shirt to capacity.

Kids grew up so quickly now, Justine thought.

Years ago, the children would not have noticed her dimensions-- or if they did, it would have stirred hitherto unknown feelings in them. Now, they routinely cracked wise about her shape whenever she looked away.

Justine sighed again, concentrating on the disappearing chalk. Could she blame them? Could she really blame them? Here she was, twenty-three years old; five foot, nine inches tall in her blue high-heel pumps; smoky brown eyes set in a lovely oval face; a straight, short nose; smooth, slightly curled red lips; satiny brown hair cut short around her face, but cascading straight down her neck; and body measurements of 36C-25-35. What did she expect?

It didn't help matters that she wore the tight shirt, accented by a tight blue skirt. At least it wasn't a mini-miniskirt. Not like the ones, she had at home.

Sure, this one was above her knees, but only by a couple of inches. It wasn't like the ones the sixthgraders wore!

Still, it was tight. At first she thought that was a compromise. Later she realized it only displayed her shape all the more. It hugged her thighs, making her take careful steps. No visible panty lines, however. Beneath she wore sheer, elegant pantyhose.

She had to admit it. She wore this stuff because she loved the way it felt. She loved to be hugged by it all. It gripped her tightly, caressing her whenever she moved. She even reveled in the details. Although she kept her fingernails short and unpainted, she wore a thin gold necklace around her throat, just above the demure neckline of the button-up shirt.

Two buttons were open, but that was more than enough cover for her anchored breasts. They were held in place by the industrial cups of the front-opening white-lace underwire bra. They held her bulbous orbs up and in place. Otherwise, they would hang down over her ribs, their large, round, brown areolas jiggling.

Justine felt them moving now, the lace going one way, the cotton of her shirt going the other, as she reached up high to get the very last of the class's scrawlings from the board. Her back was to the room, with its twenty chairs and twenty desks. To the left was the wall of windows, covered by wide venetian blinds. To the right was the class door, with its opaque glass pane. Beside that was the door of the bathroom.

Thankfully, there was a lav in each of the first three grades' rooms, so the little devils couldn't cut class on the pretext of having to go potty or wee-wee. Many a time Justine was glad it was there. This was not to be one of those times.

They came in fast, as her back was still turned with the eraser. She didn't hear them come in. She only became aware of them as she heard the class door close.

She started to turn her head in that direction, her arm still up and erasing, but then she heard the venetian blinds creak.

She looked over her left shoulder. She saw the slats turning down. The waning afternoon sunlight, and its view of the other teachers heading for their cars, was being cut off.

That was terribly odd, she thought. She strained her head even further around.

She saw a wide, strong, ugly woman finish pulling the blinders of the nearest window down, then step back to the next group. There was something strange about her smile. It was so condescending, so pitying, so hateful.

"Excuse me," Justine started to say, turning toward the woman, the eraser lowering.

The sudden motion staggered her, as if she were on the deck of a cruise ship which suddenly rocked. It was all she could do to keep her balance.

Her reaction was automatic. She cringed and screamed, although she wasn't aware of it. No one else was aware of it either, since thick, muscular arms held her, and the thick, doughy, soaked cloth pad was clamped over her mouth and nose.

Oswald had wrapped one meaty arm around her, his forearm locking her left arm, and his hand gripping her eraser arm-near the elbow. His other arm had gone around her head, affixing the wet, plush cloth on her lower face.

She started against him and fell on his arm, as if given an electric shock. Then it was over almost before it began.

Justine screamed into the cloth, but heard nothing.

She pulled away, but went nowhere. She doubled over, but did not bend. Her mind yelled at her to kick and flail, but she was practically paralyzed by fear and confusion. She couldn't comprehend what was happening. All she could do was look at the strange, iorrid woman closing the blinds one by one. Justine tried to move toward her.

Oswald gripped her tighter and pulled her head back to his shoulder by the cloth over her mouth. Feel her against me, he thought. Feel the way the clothes move as her legs rise and her torso twists. Feel the rich, soft lips working under his hand. Feel the way her jaw works, but only little muffled grunts come out.

Justine couldn't run. The skirt was constricting her legs. The shoes would only let her balance. She couldn't punch. The eraser was still in one hand, and the cotton shirt scraped across her bra and flesh.

Look at her chest strain against its constriction, Oswald thought. He judged her to be about a hundred and twenty pounds of solid woman. She had the body of a slut, the legs of a dancer, and the face of a sweet Midwestern girl. She was even better looking clothed than the pictures he saw of her naked. The nudity would come soon enough, however.

Outside, the principal was walking to his car. He always enjoyed that because he got to walk past Miss Grayson's room. Bless her heart, he thought. She always stayed late to tidy, affording him a lovely view of her figure. He looked over nonchalantly. Disappointment rushed through him as he saw the venetian blinds closest to the blackboard closing.

What a shame, he thought. Miss Grayson must have gotten wise to the faculty's shenanigans. Doubly unfortunate, since the glimpse he got just as the shades closed seemed to show that Miss Grayson was especially active in her cleaning tonight. Still, it might have been a trick of the setting sunlight.

The principal got into his car, reached for his keys, then thought better of it.

He sat behind the wheel, thinking. Why else would Miss Grayson close her shades?

She didn't seem overly prudish or vindictive. What did she care if people went out of their way to glimpse her? Was she doing something illegal, or against the rules? Maybe she wasn't feeling well. In any case, it was something the principal should look into.

He got out of his car and started to retrace his steps as Justine Grayson bucked against Oswald Rowland's muscular grip, and screamed into the drug-soaked cloth.

"Miss Grayson?" the principal called. He opened the door of her room and looked in. "Miss Grayson?"

All the lights were off and the blinds were closed.

The room was empty - The principal shrugged. His favorite third-grade teacher must have gone home early.

But she hadn't. She was in the bathroom with her captors. The drug Audrey had created at the hospital had worked well. Justine lay against Oswald as he crouched down near the toilet. Her eyelids were fluttered and her mouth hung open, tiny moans emanating from her slack pink lips. Audrey calmly reached over and pressed her palm against Justine's jaw. The nurse's fingers and thumb dug into the teacher's soft cheeks.

Oswald held her tightly. Her legs began to move, rubbing against each other.

Audrey used her other hand to push down on a skirt-covered thigh. Justine sighed again, stilling, her shirt filling. The brother and sister looked at one another.

The principal shrugged and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Fifteen minutes later, Justine awoke. Her eyes snapped open and awareness flooded through her like an opened dam. That was how Audrey mixed the drug. It was to sap the subject of their strength, render them semi-conscious for a limited time, then dissipate with no side effects. It had worked perfectly on its maiden run.

Justine had been dimly aware of her body being propped up, her arms moved around, constrictions at her joints, and a strange, luxurious scraping along her upper legs. But the only time she had struggled was when she felt her mouth being pried open. It was the same feeling she had gotten when her tonsils were about to be taken out.

But now Justine was awake and immediately gasping and quaking. She was in the small bedroom, on, her knees. Or, more properly, on the side of her knees. Her skirt had been pulled up to the very top of her thighs. Her legs had been bent and her ankles had been strapped to her thighs with two inch-wide belts. Her legs had been separated so almost her entire body weight pressed down on her crouching limbs.

She couldn’t pull herself up because she couldn’t get the leverage. She couldn't get her arms from behind her. She looked over her shoulders, moaning from the pain. Her elbows had been strapped together behind her. Her wrists were wrapped with soft, strong rope and attached to pipes along opposite walls of the narrow room by tightly pulled and knotted hemp lengths. Her lower arms made right angles to her upper arms, her fingers grabbing nothing as her hands fluttered in mid-air.

But that was not the worst of it. The worst of it was in her mouth. Her lips had been pried open. Her jaw was distended to almost its widest aperture. Her teeth were now clamped on the back of the blackboard eraser, held in her mouth by impossibly tight strands of rubber-coated wire, which dug into the center section of the deep, thick eraser strips-and was tightened at the back of her neck.

It was the worst sort of bit. Her saliva started collecting around her tongue immediately, making a pool in her lower jaw.

She felt a stream of it slip out. She felt some soak into the black padding, but then a drop fell. She felt it hit her chest, just above her still tight shirt.

She tried to look down. She felt a tearing pain at her scalp. Her head went back. Her hair had been collected, tied with another rope, and affixed by a hemp length to a pipe behind her.

So, instead, she had to feel. She had to feel the mucous slip across her skin.

She had to feel it drift down, under her shirt button. She had to feel it trickle into her cleavage and wriggle under her bra.

Justine Grayson yelled for help. She quivered in the bondage and shouted. But her lips were too wide, her jaw too weak, her tongue too constricted. She couldn't get any volume. Just trying was tiring her. She pulled against the straps and ropes. She found she was even fighting her wardrobe. Her skirt was now ridiculously tight across her hips, binding like rubber. The pantyhose felt like skintight wetsuit bottoms. Her shirt was oppressive armor, like a huge band of masking tape around her. She strained against them.

Justine couldn't budge. She was trapped in the tiny lavatory off her classroom.

She started to panic. But wait, she thought, this has to be some sort of awful joke. Envious students or jealous teachers had conspired to humiliate her. Fine.

Let them have their pathetic triumph. As long as the parents she had scheduled tonight came and released her. That would delay her meeting, but she refused to let it defeat her. Let them have their hollow laugh She would have the last laugh, she vowed.

She looked up as the bathroom door opened. Her eyes widened as a man she had never seen before entered. He was a huge man, dressed in a sweatsuit "Time for me to get out of sight," he said, switching on the ceiling fan. "Your appointment is about to start."

Then, to her horror, he kneeled down, reaching, around her. He pulled her up as he lay down, crawling between her legs on his back.

Justine looked around wildly, trying to take this turn of events in. As the lav door automatically closed behind him, she heard the classroom door open. She heard what sounded like several people come in.

"Mr. and Mrs. Schwartz?" she heard a woman say, "How nice you could make it.

Please sit down. I am Miss Grayson, your son's teacher."

Justine had to stop concentrating on this horror to try and understand the greater horror. The man was under her. She was effectively sitting on his stomach, her knees on the ground, her legs on either side of him. She pulled on her wrist ropes and started grunting "no" at him. The whirring, humming, noisy bathroom exhaust system covered those painful, garbled chokes.

"Let me go," she begged, looking up, making fists, and squeezing her eyes shut, but those words just sounded as lost and distant as her "no's". She tried to slide down off him, but the bondage wouldn't let her. Instead, she rocked back and forth across his waist.

"Hey," he mused whatever turns you on!"

She stiffened when she heard the click. Her eyes rolled down in their wide sockets. She saw the switchblade knife in his hand. She saw his other hand pinch the silky-shiny material of her pantyhose. She started to shake.

"Don't," he warned quietly. "You wouldn't want me to slip."

Justine stiffened, looked up, and tears began to stream out the corner of her eyes. She screeched a long, agonized "No!" to the ceiling.

"What was that?" asked Mr. Schwartz.

"Just the plumbing," said t heir son's wide, ugly teacher. "Pay attention. This is your child's future we're talking about."

Oswald reached up, grabbed the back of Justine's hair, and yanked. He pulled her tighter than a bowstring, the shriek cut off in a gasp of pain. "Look," he said, pulling. "You don't want to do that, okay?"

Justine choked around the gag, pulling in wracking strips of air. Oswald let go of her hair and her body slumped on him. He went back to the careful work of stripping the artificial pantyhose skin from her crotch.

Justine tried desperately to will herself away from the spot as her thick, carefully molded thatch of soft brown hair appeared just under the hem of the tight bunched skirt-which still covered most of her rear. Shiny flesh-colored silk still adhered to her legs, but the panty had been peeled back.

She sat on him, her shoes still on, her bound elbows forcing her chest to jut out, stretching her shirt to its tightest. She felt the air lapping at her cunt.

There was nothing she could do. He had opened a slot no wider than three inches and no longer than four inches in her fiber defenses.

"Don't," she begged, looking down at him as far as the hair rope would let her.

"Don't," she said, making fists and pulling on the wrist ropes. "Don't," she cried, trying to snap the strap holding her arms, "Don't," she grunted as he reached under her and beneath his sweat pants.

"Please," she pleaded as he pulled out his already stiff penis. She tried to maneuver down, but he just put his free hand on her shirt, between her breast, and pushed her back.

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