Safeword Quinacridone (41 page)

Meg’s fingers kept up their inexorable progress and Paul pulled the wire cutters from his pocket and cut the straps connecting Cara’s upper arm to the chain, redistributing her weight to the multiple ties around her torso. He moved her arm around, had her make a fist and wiggle her fingers, and finally slid it under the loose straps he’d added to her torso. The zip-ties were snugged down to assure she couldn’t pull her arm loose, and he trimmed the excess and stepped back.

The earlier arrangement had been more comfortable, but she appreciated him giving her arm a break.

Cara was sure Meg had all four fingers in her, stretching her, and it felt good
...
but peculiar. She had a completely different technique than the men, and her hands were smaller,
more graceful
as they caressed, soothed, and pushed into her.
Cara
found herself involuntarily moving her hips, craving more, but mortified she wanted it.

After trying to pee with no success, Cara had relaxed and stopped stressing about it. Her need was uncomfortable but not yet painful, more like a throbbing background rhythm for the symphony of sensory input she was receiving from the bondage, Meg’s hand stretching and pushing, her own hand on her breast, and the added spice of objectification.

Travis walked towards her with the rubber flogger and swatted her uncovered breast. She
attempted to
jerk away
,
and Meg pushed harder as
Cara’s
pussy muscles spasmed and twitched in reaction to the pain.

She heard the sounds of the flogger again and realized he’d stepped behind Meg and was lashing her shoulders. Meg’s hands moved in reaction to each strike, and Cara groaned and tilted her pelvis forward. She wanted to come so damned bad, but it wasn’t enough to get her off.

Travis tossed the flogger and stepped to her face, unbuttoned his khakis, slowly pushed the zipper down, and reached in to pull his cock out.

The head was shiny and had released a few drops of precum, and she stuck her tongue out, anxious to give him an outlet for what looked like a painful erection.

He stepped closer and rubbed the tip across her tongue, teasing her with it but not putting it in yet.

“Paul, would you mind doing the honors and making my fuck-puppet work?”

She saw him walking to the wall in her peripheral vision, and a few seconds later the strands on the back of her head carried her away from Travis’ cock, then pressure on her collar pulled her towards him again.

Travis drove into her mouth as she was dragged forward onto him and the dual motions initiated a strong gag reflex as his cock shoved into her throat.

Paul returned with more zip-ties, which he used to connect the sides of her forehead strips to the torso strap
s
. When Paul began pulling her back and forth again, her head was much more stable, driving Travis’ length and girth farther into her throat.

With her arms restrained and her mouth forced open by the Jennings gag, she had no control of speed or depth, and Travis was looking for his own relief — depending on her to suffer for his pleasure. She gagged and choked with every thrust until she finally figured out the rhythm and worked out how and when to relax her throat and accept the invasion.

Meg’s fist pushed gently at Cara’s already tender entrance
,
and Cara wished she’d just stick it in already. She unsuccessfully tried to bend her knee and angle her hips towards the hand, needing more pain and
craving
the feel of Meg’s fist inside of her.

Paul spoke from the wall, where he still played the part of puppeteer. “Push it in Meg, and I want your mouth on her clit. If your fist doesn’t sink into that sweet pussy in the next thirty seconds I’ll clamp your nipples.”

Warmth enveloped her clit and a tongue stroked just under, massaging the muscles and nerve endings surrounding it as gentle suction sent her blood skyrocketing and nearly made her supporting leg collapse.

Meg’s fist slowly sank into her and Cara erupted in orgasm, at last. Her entire body spasmed and jerked as ecstasy claimed her soul and her vision filled with purples and oranges, and her throat was stuffed with cock.

And her bladder decided to let go.

Warm pee shot from her, the spasms making it come out in bursts and add to the sensations of an already monstrous and out of control orgasm.

Paul’s voice came as if from a distance, echoing in her mind. “Put your face in the stream, slave. You don’t have to drink but I want to see your entire head glistening with the fuck-puppet’s piss. Yes, that’s it, get your tits wet too, and now back to your face, and the top of your shaved fucking head. I own that head and I want it soaked with piss.”

Cara wanted to stop peeing but she was still jerking and shuddering from her toes to her shoulders. She had no control of anything as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, and wave after wave of pee flowed out of her bladder.

Meg’s fist moved inside Cara’s pussy as Meg shifted her head into the stream, then breasts, then face. Cara wasn’t sure if the climax, or the pee, would ever end.

When Travis finally pulled out of her throat to allow her to breath, she sucked in as much oxygen as the straps around her ribcage would permit, and the orgasm picked up speed. Travis walked to the wall, saying
,
“Paul, the fuck-puppet has a nice fuckable ass, and I haven’t had the chance to play puppeteer yet. She doesn’t need prep, get Meg to swipe her other hand over your cock once or twice, it looks shiny enough.”

Paul entered her fast, pushing in hard with no consideration for allowing her time to get used to him, and held. The straps around her hips began compelling her forward and backward, and with Meg’s fist inside of her pussy and Paul’s cock in her ass, another orgasm was only millimeters away.

“Slave,” Paul said, “get your mouth back on her clit and work your hand in her pussy, you know what feels good.”

Meg pulled her hand part way out, opened it, squeezed it into a fist again, and slowly forced her way back in. Cara was still sore from being fisted two nights before, and the pain was like a serious of brushstrokes painting a sunrise — each layering another shade of color, of pleasure and torment and intoxicating euphoria, until Cara screamed at the sensations and her body erupted in paroxysms of bliss and agony.

Travis must’ve had enough of playing puppeteer, as he strode quickly back to her, pulling his cock out of his pants as he walked and pushing it into her mouth when he reached her, straight to the back of her throat, and down.

He groaned and Cara heard the ruthlessness in his voice as he said, “Don’t take it easy on her Paul, and make sure your slave doesn’t either. I want to give my fuck-puppet a comprehensive test to see how much it can take.”

The warm liquid around Cara’s foot had cooled and she lifted it out of the water to test how the bonds of her leg and torso held her weight, but with action at her mouth, ass, and pussy she needed the support her leg provided.

Paul’s cock pounded her ass mercilessly as Meg’s hand forced its way slowly in and out, giving her slow and intense sensation while the woman’s mouth sucked at her clit and her warm tongue flicked, licked, and soothed. Travis fucked her face like a madman and reality slowly collapsed in on itself until Cara didn’t feeling anything specifically, but felt
everything
. Just as the individual instruments of an orchestra merge into a single sound, so the violins at her clit, the timpani at her ass, the trumpet fucking her face, and the cello at her pussy all merged into a single harmonic melody.

When the orgasm claimed her this time her body froze on the outside as every internal muscle pulsed, quaked, shuddered, and quivered in a frenzied, hectic, dance of euphoria.

Travis came down her throat, not giving her the choice of whether to swallow, and Paul gave a final violent thrust and roared as he filled the condom deep in her ass.

Travis warned her to swallow before breathing as he slid out, and she was thankful for the reminder — sucking air in as soon as a cock left your throat was a bad idea when it’d just ejaculated into your esophagus, as one was likely to get a lungful of cum.

Paul immediately began snipping zip-ties, and both Travis and Meg supported her weight as he severed the last strips. The men helped her walk to a dry section of floor before gently lowering her, and Cara was grateful to feel cushioning under the tarp.

Travis went to work on her feet, legs and pelvic area with baby-wipes, and Paul used them on Meg, cleaning everywhere the piss had dripped and run.

Travis’ eyes were his own again, and his hands gentle as they cleaned her. “We’ll get the two of you taken care of a bit here and we’ll let you share a bath. The day isn’t over, but you need to get warm and clean, and I’m guessing you could both use a nap.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

One of Cara’s long time fantasies had been that of lamp, an inanimate object providing light to the others in the room.

She stood wearing a bronze latex outfit and holding a lit bulb over her head, with Meg wrapped around her legs painted with bronze body paint all over; and Cara wasn’t sure the reality lived up to the fantasy.

The men paid no attention to the lamp providing light as they ate steak and baked potatoes, their conversation primarily on an upcoming mountain bike excursion the two were planning.

They’d situated Cara with one foot propped on a short, bronze, Roman column slightly taller than her knees, with Meg seated on it with her arms wrapped around Cara’s waist and her face at Cara’s pussy, so her breath kept the latex over her clit warm. Cara held the opaque globe over her head, and her arm was growing dreadfully tired.

She lifted her left hand from Meg’s shoulder in an effort to help support the weight of the globe, and the men stopped eating and looked at her.

“Lamps aren’t supposed to move, are they?” said Travis.

“No, I don’t believe so. Perhaps it’s defective?”

“It’s still lighting the room, so I wouldn’t call it defective. Let’s see what happens if we pump more energy into it.”

Travis stepped towards them as Paul walked to the sideboard and collected items from under a cloth napkin.

Paul unwrapped Meg from around Cara and stood his slave to the side, posed as a statue with arms raised over her head.

Cara was settled on an empty portion of the dining room table, on her back with legs ridiculously stuck in the air. Travis opened the zipper at her crotch and
perfunctorily
inserted a large plug with minimal lube into her ass, much as one would push a plug into a wall socket
,
and she yelped and gave a quick screech as it finally sank in. She had to breathe through the pain for several long seconds, taking more time than usual to relax around it.

A mechanic doesn’t look at the windshield as he works on the engine, and Travis didn’t look at Cara’s face as he quickly pressed a large egg into her pussy and settled a bullet alongside her clit. His fingers held her pussy lips around the bullet until he re-zipped the crotch and the latex held it secure. Cara had felt more silly than objectified earlier, but Travis’ callous treatment pushed her back into object mode, and her insides flared to life around the
items
filling and stretching her.

Paul had Meg touch her toes with her legs spread, and he pressed a plug and egg into his slave before the men returned them to the ideal location for a lamp, but situated them back to back this time. Paul produced another bundle of the long zip-ties and began systematically strapping their legs together every few inches.

A semi-inflated clear beach ball was wedged between their backs, and a large zip-tie wrapped their around torsos just above the breasts, arching their spines.

Their hands and wrists were zip-tied straight above their heads, the globe held in their four joined hands. More strips were added to their arms every couple of inches, forcing their elbows straight, and a final zip-strip circled their foreheads and arms.

Paul leaned down, made puffing noises, and Cara realized he was blowing more air into the beach ball. He continued until their backs were at an impossible arch and the sit-spots of their bottoms pressed against each other.

Cara worried they might fall over once they were no longer held by the men, but Paul stepped onto the Roman column and pulled a rope down,
fastening
it to the strap around their torso to provide stability.

The lamp’s globe was turned on, the room lights dimmed once more, and the men returned to their meals. Cara gasped and jerked in surprise as the egg in her pussy came to life, and she moaned in frustration as it quieted several minutes later and the bullet brought her clit screaming to awareness. A few minutes more and the plug in her ass began to gently make its presence known, and for the rest of the meal she had at least one item vibrating in her, often two, and occasionally all three — but never with enough stimulation to allow an orgasm.