Attic rope tied | Plaything 10 | bound bdsm stories

Kirby shook in their grip, unsure whether to struggle and shout louder, or become completely quiet. Which of her captors was the frying pan, and which was the fire?

The brother and sister made the choice for her. Audrey pressed the girl's neck tighter, and pushed her hand over Kirby's mouth harder. Oswald dug his fingers into her tender tit and jammed his fingers into her pussy up to his knuckles. He pushed his cock deeper into her hands. They squeezed her between them, tears rolling out of her glistening blue eyes.

"Just getting her ready for bed!" Oswald barke

"In the cellar?" Calvin yelled back, although he didn't start down the steps.

Oswald ground Kirby's breast, trying to get a better grip. Her hands spasmed on his cock. He growled into her ear, pressing his pelvis on her ass. The message was clear: take it.

Her fingers slowly wrapped around his shaft again.

"Didn't you say there was some great clothes down here?" Audrey shouted.

"That's upstairs!" Calvin retorted. "In the attic! Get her up here. You're not doing anything to her, are you?"

"Not a thing," said Oswald as he quickly moved his hand around inside her, his thumb rubbing her clit. Kirby gasped, her eyes opening wide. Audrey took her hand off the girl's mouth and hurriedly rubbed Kirby's covered tit with it. "Are we, dear?"

Oswald asked the stunned, assaulted blond still writhing in their grip.

"Get up here!" Calvin repeated as Oswald continued to rapidly caress and stimulate Kirby's clitoris, holding onto her floppy, filled tit for leverage.

"We’re coming," he promised. "Aren't we, honey?"

Kirby blinked and choked, her head moving forward. Audrey could see her eyes unfocusing. She could feel the girl's body begin to rumble. Kirby gripped Oswaid's shaft like a life preserver.

"Come along, sweetheart," said Audrey, pulling her forward, Oswald moving so he was still pressed against Kirby's back. "All you have to do is come. Then we can go upstairs."

"She giving you problems?" Calvin asked, still out of sight.

"A little," said Oswald, hand still moving inside her. "She's reluctant to come." He pressed down on her nerve endings. Her head went back. "It's nothing we can't handle."

Kirby started shaking her head, whooping behind the gag, eyes squeezed shut, tears and sweat coursing into her hair.

Audrey reached behind the girl, jerked up the back of the red leather miniskirt, filled her hands with Kirby's ass cheeks, and pulled her forward, Oswald's hand becoming her penis.

Kirby's high heels left the floor, her feet kicking finally ripping loose the panty knotted at her knees. Oswald held her by the tit and clit. Her little cries became one long wail, and then she orgasmed.

Kirby jerked in their grip once, twice, and then shivered. Oswald took his hand out of her cunt, slipped it under her shirt, and wiped it on the covered right tit. Audrey quickly pulled the miniskirt down to wrap around Kirby's mid-thighs.

Kirby's head lolled forward, drool dribbling over her lower lip. Oswald took her by the chin, his tit hand lowering to her waist.

"Keep your hands on me," he whispered to her. "Take them off and you're in real trouble.

Kirby's eyes cleared. Her fingers quivered, but then she slowly reclaimed his still hard wand.

They moved her toward the stairs, Calvin coming into view at the doorway to the kitchen. "What the hell were you looking for? The corset and stuff are in the attic."

"Sorry," said Oswald, maneuvering the uncertain, unwieldy girl so her body always blocked Calvin's view of what her hands were doing.

"She looks tired," said Calvin.

"What a surprise," Audrey said dryly.

"Well, get her up here," Calvin instructed again.

"Put her in her room, I've got to think. Tomorrow I' II decide what we should or shouldn't do with her. Got it?"

Suddenly Kirby's hands became her voice. Her fingers became her words. They started moving very

quickly, very purposefully. They started trying to do to him what he had just done to her. Oswald could understand what she was saying very, very well.

Help me. Don't let him do anything to me. Save me from him and I'll do whatever you want.

Oswald smiled, starting to lift her up one stair at a time. "Understood," he told Calvin. The man frowned, then retreated. The two heard him heading up the stairs, cognizant that he was expecting them. in mere moments.

Oswald kept her masturbating him across the kitchen, dining room, living room, and up the stairs.

He jerked her to a stop just in front of Calvin's open door. Calvin looked at them from where he lay on top of the bed covers.

Oswald ejaculated.

The cum smeared her hands and spurted across her back. It splotched her leather and satin, but some snuck through to her skin. Kirby contorted in place.

"There, there now," Calvin said reasonably, getting up and coming over to her.

"There's no reason to be afraid." He put his hand on her (face) cheek. She stared up at him, feeling Oswald's cum dripping off the hem of her skirt.

Calvin was continuing his talk. "You're my stepdaughter. I'm just going to treat you the way you treated me. How many times have you told me to fuck off? Well, now's my chance." He looked at his partners in crime. He motioned with his head toward Kirby's room. "Tie her down. I'll be in if I feel like it." He turned to go, then stopped short. "Oh, and change that gag, will you? I don't want her jaw to break."

"You got it," said Audrey, and quickly hustled Kirby through her room and into her walk-in closet. Oswald was there with them, wrapping Kirby's mane in his hand and securing it in a pigtail with one of the girl's own elastics. Audrey's fingers were at the back of Kirby's head, undoing the ball gag. With help from her brother, they pried it out of Kirby's mouth.

The girl groaned in relief, then gasped as Oswald pulled her head down by her hair. She had to widen her stance to remain, upright. Suddenly her vision was filled with Oswald's dripping cock.

"Clean it off," he demanded, pulling on her hair. She sensed Audrey by her side and felt the air course under her skirt and across her beaver. "Take it. Wash it."

Kirby opened her mouth to plead, but remembered Brad Calvin in the next room.

Without a word, she put her lips around Oswaid's steaming dick.

"Ah, that's better," he sighed, holding onto her pigtail as Audrey cleaned the semen off the skirt and top. Neither captor had to manipulate her; Kirby did all the moving herself.

"All nice and dry?" Audrey asked him.

He nodded, smiling. "Perfect." Together they pulled her off his dick with an audible pop. Then Audrey yanked her up and stuffed the ripped panties in Kirby's mouth. Then the wide woman wrapped a thick, resilient cloth twice between Kirby's teeth before tightly securing it at the back of her head. Only then did Oswald release the blond's wild mane of hair.

Kirby gurgled and babble, trying to make words or even recognizable noises. She stepped back, looking pleadingly at the pair. She moved her head around, straining in on her neck as her jaw moved agonizingly.

"Et . . . ee . . . ow," she managed to laboriously grunt. She had to move very carefully in the red high heels and tight leather miniskirt. She had become very conscious of the way the satin was adhering to one tit while the other wiggled free. "Et ... eh ... oh."

"Don't worry, don't worry," Oswald stressed, coming forward to wrap one arm around her waist, holding her to him. "Calvin won't keep you. But we can't just ignore him. We need a little diversion. He put his other hand on her exposed breast and squeezed. Kirby dropped her head back and sobbed.

Calvin was totally awake when something appeared in the door to his room.

Night had completely engulfed the town and all the house lights were out. But there was enough street and moonlight to illuminate the vision which filled the doorway.

It was Kirby. Her mouth was still filled by her panties and the cloth. But now her eyes were also covered by another cloth. Even so, her blond hair billowed out, making a tousled halo around her silenced, blinded head.

The miniskirt and satin top were gone. It their place was one of her grandmother's corsets. Even with Kirby's daunting measurements, she had to be squeezed into the red-satin, bone-supported, laced-up thing. Her breasts were thrust up by the thing, threatening to bubble over. It stopped just above her naked hips.

Although she wasn't wearing shoes, Kirby walked on tiptoe because of her breathlessness. Her wrists were tied behind her, crossed, and lashed to the tiny waist of the corset.

Although her legs were not constricted in any way, she didn't run because the brother and sister were holding her hands. Audrey held Kirby's right hand as if shaking it. Oswald held her left hand like a nervous lover-his fingers entwined with hers.

They stood on either side of her, directing her in.

"What's this?" Calvin gasped, sitting up.

"We're not stupid," Oswald told him. "We know what you want."

"It was the light," said Audrey. "And the doubt. It was here eyes. And your guilt. We knew that when darkness came you would know what you want."

"But," said Calvin, still not moving from the bed.

"You see?" said Audrey. "She cannot see you. She cannot curse you. And truly, you cannot see her. No one can. No one can see her or hear her. No one knows. No one will know. No one will ever know. Darkness covers all." They brought the girl right up to the edge of the bed, her breasts jiggling.

"Take them," said Audrey. "Take her. That's what you want. You know it."

Calvin's hand started to rise. "Yes," he said. "Yes." He gripped one of her squishy orbs and pressed it into her chest. "Yes."

The Rowlands grabbed her as Kirby started to heave in their grip. She tried throwing herself back and to the side as her stepfather kept molesting her. She struggled and screamed with all her might, trying to leap off the floor, as all three captors held on with increasing fervor.

Finally Calvin couldn't take it any more. He grabbed her around the waist and threw her on the bed. He grabbed her again as she tried scrambling off it. He dragged her to the center and pinned her with his body.

She was on her back beneath him, her bound hands beneath her. She was gasping for breath, her chest heaving, her hair covering her face. He grabbed two fistfuls of the blond stuff and pulled it away from her visage. He looked down into her sweating, chewing face.

"It's no good to fight anymore," he said. "I've decided what to do with you."

Kirby screamed the word no just before he put the pillow over her face. The sudden cutting off of what little air she could get panicked her. She fainted.

When she awoke, he was fucking her.

one arm was under her shoulders and around her neck. The other hand was squeezing her abused left tit. His chest was squeezing the right one. Her legs were pulled wide, her big toes and ankles tightly lashed to the very tops of the baseboard's posts. Her bound wrists were still cinched at the small of her back.

She couldn't see him. But she could smell and feel him as his fetid cock slithered inside her. It felt like a slimy, hissing boa surging and shrinking in her vaginal canal. She felt her nerves tingling and her pain receptors shrieking as it tore at her cunt hair and scraped the sides of her.

There was no pleasure. There was no sense of her existence at all. The big man's assault had been terrible, but it had been an attack of her being. This was simply an abuse of her receptacle.

Calvin choked and gasped above her, plunging his weak meat into her again and again. He piled almost three years of pent-up aggression on her helpless body.

He sucked and slobbered and mauled. He yanked her hair and shoved himself inside her.

Soon it was all he could do just to lay on her and move his hips up and back, up and back, up and back. His prick was the longest and hardest it had ever been.

Kirby stopped trying to fight and concentrated on breathing. She lay under him, her only motion being from his slainming into her.

Her screaming had stopped. His whining had stopped. Now he grunted with each thrust, and she moaned.

She only moved when she felt his cock throbbing, getting ready to go. She tried to roll over and pull away. But the ropes pulling her legs wide and long wouldn't give.

He grabbed her tits, now sidled to the opposite ends of her chest, and did a pushup.

"Yes!" he cried. "Yes! This is it!"

Oswald Rowland's hands gripped him around the neck, from the back. Oswald squeezed.

Kirby Andrews arched her back, her head all the way back as well. Her body curled, her legs still straight, as she howled into the gag, imagining him spurt and splatter inside her.

She couldn't see him convulse, dying, his fetid dick ejaculating harmlessly over the side of the bed. She contorted in her ropes, crying out, as he contorted above her, his skin turning purple, his eyes and tongue bulging out.

Oswald killed Calvin and dumped him into his pool of cum. Kirby's cries stilled when she heard the thump, but started anew as Oswald took her stepfather's place.

He lay atop the bound, gagged, and blindfolded blond, sticking his huge prick between her legs. He filled his hands with her thick, floppy tits and sank into her all the way to his balls.

It was the difference between a tree limb and a tree trunk. Kirby's agonizingly aching scream was silent. Every muscle in her body stretched to the snapping point. Perspiration popped out of every pore. She tried to sit up, but Oswald held her lush body down.

He put a big slobbering kiss on her breasts, then her neck, and then her face, before whispering in her ear.

"Nice diversion." He pulled back his cock, then surged forward again. "Nice going."

Outside the room, Audrey listened to the bed creak, her brother grunt, and their captive suffer.

Oswald took a long time burying Calvin. That wasn't surprising since he had a distraction. He was in the cellar with a shovel, digging a relatively deep grave, while Audrey was on the steps playing with her bag of tricks. Calvin's corpse lay beside the hole. Kirby lay on the ground between the brother and sister.

She was wearing her form-fitting black minidress-the one with the long sleeves and deep V neck. The skirt's hem came just to the top of her thighs, two inches below her crotch. She wasn't wearing underwear or stockings. On her feet were shiny black high-heel pumps with three and a half inch heels.

Her wrists were crossed behind her and tied with black rubber-coated wire. Her eyes were covered by a pair of black pantyhose, tied beneath her blond mane. In and over her mouth was the "black band," which Audrey had gotten from work. It was designed to keep troublesome patients from hurting or disturbing themselves or others.

The prod separated the teeth and pushed the tongue down. The covering, padded band kept screams muffled, quiet, and indecipherable. This thing was also strapped tightly beneath Kirby's hair.

Audrey had tied Kirby's legs separately-- each ankle was lashed to each thighs with just enough space between calf and shin (about four inches) to give her a slight feeling of mobility. Still, she couldn't kick, she couldn't stand, and she certainly couldn't run.

She also wasn't aware of what was happening around her. She was certainly aware of what was happening to her. Every few minutes Oswald would tire of grave-digging, hop out of the hole, and go over to fuck her.

She would roll around and squeal with exhaustion, as he would grab her hip, side, or arm, and pull her to him. He would roll her onto her back and force himself between her legs. He would pull her up to sit on his hard-on. He would roll her onto her front and pull up her haunches to go at her from the rear.

The dress afforded her no protection. Either he'd grab her tits through the barely containing cloth, or her tits would slosh out from cover, right into his hands. And no matter what position she was in, once her legs were opened, her golden snatch was revealed.

He plunged into her again and again. She would gasp and moan and occasionally let out a gagged scream. He came into her twice: once when she was on her back (he put his hands under her back, grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her onto his ejaculating shaft as she contorted and shook her head) and once when she was on her front (his hands dug under her belly, grabbed her breasts, and pulled, as her face scraped across the dirt floor, her sandwiched fingers scratched at his stomach, and her feet waved uselessly in the air).

Finally the hole was deep enough. As Oswald dumped Calvin's body and filled the makeshift grave in, Audrey untied Kirby's legs and helped the tired, unsteady girl to sit on the stairs. Then the wide woman crossed Kirby's ankles, retied them, and sat behind her. She slipped her hands into Kirby’s dress and played while Oswald finished up.

Kirby had passed beyond hysteria. She was near catatonia when the sun came up.

By then they had helped her up the stairs, through the house, and into the attic. She hardly felt them undressing her again, taking off the blindfold and gag, and untying her. She lay like a sack of sex at their feet. The only thing which brought her around again was the bite of the rope.

She was back in her waking nightmare. She literally couldn't believe it. They had ransacked the attic.

They had opened every suitcase and garment bag, and emptied all the clothes onto the floor. The area was now completely covered in billowing cloth.

Kirby Andrews lay naked on the cloth. She was dressed in rope.

They had designed a cunning, awful hemp outfit for her. Her arms were behind her, bent up her back until her wrists crossed between her shoulder blades. They were bound there. They were attached to the back of her rope bra. The tight, tight ropes went over, under, between, and cross her chest-holding and assaulting her tits. The humongous sacks bulged in the cord's grip.

Her panties were rope. It was knotted into her waist, then yanked down between her legs and up her ass crack. Her legs were tied separately, thighs to ankles, then a short length was lashed between her knees-again cutting off most of her mobility. If that wasn't enough, there were also strands lashed between each bent elbow and corresponding ankle, knotting her in a new-wave hogtie.

In her mouth was much of her cotton summer dress. Rope went between her teeth and around her head to keep that in. Over that was more summer dress, tied under, over, and in her hair-the same unruly mane that cascaded over her eyes and face with every move. She saw Oswald and Audrey through that blond curtain.

"You're a big, healthy girl, aren't you?" the wide woman was saying. "With enough rest, you'll probably get at least some of your strength back."

Kirby tried to move. She froze when the ropes dug into her chest and cunt.

"You see?" said Audrey. "You see what you have to look forward to?"

"I suggest you just lay there on your side until you get some breath back," said Oswald. "I know how much of that you have."

Kirby raised her head and tried imploring them. Even she couldn't understand the mush which emerged.

"There, there, child," said Audrey. "In time, you might start to get used to it.

In time, you may be able to rise above the sensations which blast your brain every time you twitch. With enough time and concentration, you might even be able to coordinate a way to sit up. On your knees. It isn't impossible, you know."

Moving as little as possible, Kirby tried knocking her knees on the floor. She made a fist and tried hitting the attic planking. She couldn't hear and could hardly feel the result.

"Even so," Audrey was saying. "Even if you're able to learn to crawl slow, painful, millimeter by millimeter crawling the neighbors won't hear you.

Pedestrians won't see you. Your friends think you've left town." The wide woman looked at the lush blond girl purposefully. "And your stepfather is gone."

Kirby started to sob, her body shaking. She cried each time the ropes dug. Soon she stilled, her head lowering to the padded floor.

"Bye, babe," said Oswald. He nudged her chest, and then her cunt, with his foot.

He walked down the attic stairs.

"Goodbye, my dear," said Audrey. She leaned down, seemingly to kiss Kirby on the forehead. She even used a hand to move the girl's hair aside. Then she suddenly pressed a band of tape across Kirby's eyes and the bridge of her nose.

Kirby shrieked and started undulating, the ropes be damned. Audrey quickly retreated went down the

steps, and closed the attic door behind her.

"She seemed upset," said Oswald mildly. "What did you do, dance on her chest?"

"Not at all," said the woman, heading for the stairs to the first floor. "She misses us already, that's all."

"I can always come back," Oswald mused, following her. "It was okay to pick on a girl more to my own size."

"Naturally," said his sister. "By then, our dear one will have chosen whether she wants to attempt unlatching the window shades or getting down the attic steps. She will have undoubtedly made progress in some direction. I'm sure she would be absolutely delighted to see you again."

"Yeah," said Oswald as they headed for the back door. "Yeah."

"But first things first," she said. "There's always Ms. June, Ms. July, Ms.

August, etc., etc., and so on."

Oswald stopped thinking about the past and concentrated on the future. "Why not?" he agreed. "So far, it's been a very good year.

THE SCHOOL CUSTODIAN WAS SHOCKED WHEN HE FOUND Justine Grayson. Her had just

finished the rest of his responsibilities when he remembered the music teacher had asked him to hang the concert curtains for the department's upcoming recital. After the kids and staff had gone home, he had planned to spend some overtime completing the job. But when he unlocked the storage area under the stage and swung back the door, he immediately saw the lush blond shape within.

The all-in-one tall came out of his pocket. He raced forward, afraid that the still form was dead. He cut the ropes attaching the wrists to the ankles. The body just stretched out, with no sign of life. He was only distantly aware of how rich and shapely the body was. It was only when he saw the breast ropes that he had a glimmer of what had gone on here.

He kneeled to quickly snap loose the hemp going through the middle of the body's chest.

Justine Grayson felt it like a spark going off in her head. She stretched and moaned.

The custodian realized everything then. He recognized the body, stocking mask or not. There was no mistaking those legs. There was no mistaking that shape. There was no mistaking that chest, as her large, luscious orbs sprang slowly back into their proper shape.

The custodian fell back, blinking at the slowly undulating form in front of him.

How many times had he strained to catch a glimpse of those legs as her skirts swirled around them as she walked down the hall? How many times had he imagined the sheen of her skin beneath her clothes? How many times had he tried to peer into her shirt whenever she moved or bent down?

This was Ms. Grayson, and somebody had attacked her. Somebody had bound her tightly so she wouldn't fight, and gagged her so she couldn't scream. Somebody had ripped off her shirt and tom her bra off. Someone had pulled a tiny T-shirt over her head which adhered to her quivering tits. Someone had cut her skirt to micro-mini length.

Someone had probably assaulted her. Why else would they do this? She wasn't from a wealthy family. There was probably no ransom involved. They had just done as they pleased and left her like this so she couldn't raise an alarm. Left her like this so they could make their getaway....

Justine stretched and tried to cry out again. Her wrists twisted in there bonds.

She tried to uncross her ankles and open her legs. The custodian hastily surged forward to saw at the ropes on her lower limbs. When he had freed her knees and feet, he fell back again, without a word.

Not surprisingly, Justine was disoriented. This, as well as her previous ordeal, had been like a dream. A nightmarish dream. She could only deal with new situations in comparison to that. The rubber bands were no longer digging into her and her legs were free, so this was better than before. She would not try to understand what was happening-simply deal with it.

Justine Grayson started the long process of sitting up.

The custodian watched, breathless, as the hooded girl attempted to make her deadened legs work. He waited for what seemed like hours as she struggled to reclaim her limbs. He stared as her mind's repeatedly screamed signals roused the sluggish, reluctant gams. Finally Justine managed to kneel. She started to walk forward, on her knees.

The custodian saw the ropes around her wrists, around her elbows, and around her chest, above and below her tits. He saw that one stocking had been put over her head, and the other tied around her mouth. By the sounds she was making, her mouth was stuffed beneath the stockings as well. He saw her broad chest heaving, her tits jiggling beneath the tight, tight T-shirt.

He almost gasped when she hit a pile of curtains and topped atop them. He could see up her cut-off skirt. She wasn't wearing panties. He could see her tight, round rear. He could see her tuft and thick, trimmed, luxurious cunt hair.

Justine Grayson rolled half out of the curtain storage area. Her head rested on the carpet in front of the first row of seats. She sobbed, her body quaking. But then she realized that she could breathe fresh air again. It wasn't just the musty smell of curtains which filtered through the hosiery.

It started cleaning out her constipated mind. She was out of her prison. She didn't know how and she didn't know why, but she didn't care. She started to crawl forward.

The custodian picked up her blue high-heel pumps and followed.

Justine Grayson managed to stand, her legs wide. She tottered in place until she could reclaim enough strength. She raised her head, light blinding her through the stocking hood, and screamed. The gags were still doing their work. The sound hardly traveled to the back of the auditorium.

She rubbed her arms together and twisted, trying to slip her elbow ropes. She tried pulling her hands through the wrist loops. She contorted and bucked like a newborn colt. All to no avail.

The Custodian stood to the side and watched. He watched as she stepped forward, trying to navigate her way out. She found the side exit steps. He trailed her silently as she squealed and mewed and only occasionally sobbed. She reached the exit door. She turned to let her weak fingers push the latch.

Justine Grayson stumbled out into the darkened school hallway. The custodian stepped after her. He watched her turn this way and that, trying to locate the area with the most moonlight. He watched her turn the wrong way and carefully move farther down the school hall. He watched her slow, stop, and then turn back.

He watched her move toward the head office. He watched her clear the comer toward the front doors. He watched her covered head turn in that direction. He watched her slide her bare feet forward, toward the dim light and the cooling air of the outside. He watched her slow and pivot, her bound hands straining to find the doors, her clawing fingers straining to touch the door latches.

Only when she finally succeeded did he grab her.

She screamed and contorted and kicked and cried as he half dragged and half carried her back. And even though her head and feet hit him several times, she wasn't strong enough in her present condition to stun or slow him. So she couldn't stop him from stripping her. She couldn't help being pushed on a toilet, then thrown into the showers.

He cut her elbows free and pulled off the stocking hood. He turned on the lights to blind her and turned on the water to stun and clean her. She hit the tile wall and suddenly her legs wouldn't support her anymore. Hysteria and exhaustion combined to knock he down. She slid to the floor, the water beating down on her, the steam peeling the tape from her mouth. Her balled-up shirt sleeve drooled from her mouth like a big white worm.

She lay on the tile floor, naked, her lips finally free, and only her wrists tied. The water pounded down all around her. Her brain told her to fun, to fight, to scream, but she could do none of it. She had emptied her bladder and her intestines; she had been cleansed. Now all she wanted to do was sleep.

Justine Grayson's hands popped out of the soaking wrist bonds the second she lost consciousness.

Morning came to the school some hours later, as it always did. The staff arrived first and set about their duties. The teachers came next. The music teacher was pleased to see the performance curtain was in place. Finally the students arrived, racing to their assigned rooms. By eight in the morning, the establishment was crammed with activity.

Only the principal was unhappy that Ms. Grayson was not in her proper place, nor had she called. An assistant principal would have to fill in until they could call a substitute. This was not good for her permanent record ... not good at all.

Ms. Grayson was present, however. Downstairs, below the music room, where the orchestra and chorus would rehearse all day, was the custodian' s office-- that little room beyond the throbbing furnace where he kept his radio, television, hot plate desk, and cot. A bathroom was just down the concrete hall from it.

Ms. Grayson was there, lying on her side, on his cot. She was not naked, as she had been. The custodian had a key to the uniform closet. He had gotten a blue-and-white cheerleading minidress a few sizes too small for her.

The sleeveless V-neck torso section adhered to her like a lower layer of skin.

Most of her breasts bulged out, being just barely held in by her nipples. The pleated miniskirt just barely covered her cunt and ass, her long legs stretching to the very edge of the cot.

Her wrists were crossed and tied behind her with rope. They were placed in the small of her back where more rope attached them to her waist. Her shoes were back on, her ankles crossed and bound, then bound again to the legs of the cot.

Ropes wrapped her thighs. Another rope circled her neck several times and was lashed to the legs at the head of the cot.

Her T-shirt was balled in her mouth. Her blue skirt was folded, encircling her head twice, keeping it in. More ropes secured the new gag further. Over her eyes he had placed squares of white tape.

The custodian looked at his prize. If he played this exactly right, he never would be suspected. If he kept her blindfolded, she wouldn't know it was him doing it. If things got tight and hot, he could always move her back under the stage. Meanwhile, he could make his sick, perverted fantasies come true.

Tonight, after everyone had left and he had completed his day's due, he could get his reward. He'd tie her ankles wide to the pipes above her head. Her back would still be on the cot, her wrists cinched, her screams stilled, and her vision obscured. He'd have Justine Grayson right where he wanted her.

Prev Next